


Eldritch Mother (and after a snap of teeth she licks clean her bloody chops)

by deathwailart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Cannibalism, Death, F/M, Gen, Gore, Horror, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started out as a writing experiment and I ended up liking the results of it.  I wanted to try to involve the senses more and the horror stuff just sort of...filtered in.  Concrit appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Eldritch Mother (and after a snap of teeth she licks clean her bloody chops)

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a writing experiment and I ended up liking the results of it. I wanted to try to involve the senses more and the horror stuff just sort of...filtered in. Concrit appreciated.

"I had a dream where I was a monster," she whispers into his ear and in the fog of sleep she sounds frightening, sibilant hiss of her voice in the night. Her lips graze his ear and he flinches, picturing a forked serpentine tongue, bloody fangs that drip with venom. Her hair brushes his neck, a thousand snakes so he shifts, primal instinct telling him to get away from her but he can't so instead he whimpers, squirms. She is undeterred. "I ripped your throat out with my fingers," in his mind, her mouth is smeared with gore, flecks of blood splattered up to her hairline, "and then I plucked out your heart. So small, so warm. I ate it. Tore it apart with my teeth." Claws cup his cheek, trace his jaw. A talon runs over the thin skin of his neck, lingers on his pulse. She laughs. "I love you." She punctuates it with kiss and settles herself once more. Shadows dance on the walls, thin curtains and a poorly placed streetlight working in concert to make monster limbs from tree branches. The murky darkness plays with her features, creating odd hollows, a sunken cheeked and eyed beast ready to devour him.

She sleeps sweetly by his side. He lies awake, sweats bullets and swears that the wall shadows are reaching out for him, ready to grab him and hold him down for their mistress.

Dreams have always lingered for him or really any thoughts he has when his mind drifts and his waking nightmares born from her dreamy whispers and lack of sleep follow him throughout the day. Every shadow is a warning, her little minion. A threat lurks at every turn and he jumps and jerks, a marionette with newly cut strings. She croons to him, pulls him all snug and tight to ask what's wrong with him - the words die in his throat for a long time because he's being ridiculous and crazy but she wheedles and prods and, pathetically, he doesn't wish to upset her right now. He repeats her words verbatim, wishing he could see her face but equally fearful of seeing the monster face from the dark. He is genuinely frightened. This, he decides, is how a rabbit feels when the fox has it cornered.

"Is that really it?" She laughs, breath hot on his ear and he thinks of a she-wolf over her kill. Dripping fangs in a cavernous hungry maw because she nips at the shell of the cartilage and he shudders against her, feels it travel down from his neck, down the back of his knees to his feet, toes curling in his shoes. "Such a silly thing. Dreams aren't real now, are they?"  
  
"Of course not," he is too quick to agree, kicks himself mentally, "just a silly dream."  
  
"I don't even remember it really," she adds and he cranes his neck - oh how vulnerable it is, she with those long, spidery fingers that could crush his windpipe, break the hyoid bone or maybe with the correct application of pressure she could lock him inside his own body while she did as she pleased, taking her time as he lay there able only to blink. "I don't think I could do all those terrible things, do you?"  
  
He looks into her eyes, deep black pools and a monster lurks in them, assessing. He is reminded of cats toying with kills, batting them about, letting them run only to smack them down or place a paw upon a skinny tail. "O-of course not."

He shivers again as she threads her fingers in his hair and tilts his head back sharply and he thinks she might kiss his throat but her mouth hovers and she exhales, hot damp breath and then nips so suddenly he wonders if he imagined it.

\---

That night he dreams but feels as though he is awake. He is good at dreams, especially lucid dreams, able to will himself to lie still and to bear the weight upon his chest and the fright of sleep paralysis until he can control them but tonight the dreams are not of his making or if they are, they are borne from all the dark parts and cluttered corners of his mind, every ghastling imagining and gory detail from horror to real life inhabit it.

He tells himself, I am asleep, this is not real, I will wake up. It does little to ease his mind.

He cannot see himself in the dream but when he looks down he can see his body, his feet and hands and he would dream about a mirror or anything reflective but he has done that before and something disturbing greeted him and he woke wracked with cold sweats, resorting to pills to sleep for a considerable time after that. A vibration has the ground not quite shaking but pulsing, some heavy bass rumble that travels up the back of his knees, up his throat to set his teeth on edge. His heart leaps in his chest and he can hear the rasping of his breathing, too loud, far too loud in this nightmare place, slain monsters littering the ground. She has been hunting. The corpses of the beasts have been torn apart by hands and mouth, eviscerated, intestines spilling out and he trips over one with a wet squelch. He gags and almost vomits, bile burning up to scorch his throat, nose and eyes and scrambles away as fast as he can, scuttling like a spider as he wipes gore from his hands onto his jeans.

Hissing lurking things watch him with wary eyes; their glares make the hairs along the back of his neck stand on edge, make him want to rub at his bare arms but the stink of death coming from his hands has him clenching and relaxing them into fists. He attempts to summon up happier thoughts because...because he is good at this. But he comes to suspect that maybe he is not in a dream that is his, he is trapped in another one, he is trapped in hers. Things like that are impossible, he tells himself but he is sweating and it feels as if ants are marching beneath his skin as he picks up the pace, trying to get away from the carnage she has left in her wake but it stretches on endlessly. Iron rests heavy on his tongue mingling with the salty cloying taste of his despair and his stomach is in knots, twisting and pulling, looping and she must have the end of it, tying him to her. A beast limps over to him, still hungry as all beasts ever are but it is missing the front left foot, its crocodile jaws are damaged - the top jaw has been ripped off for the most part, a bloodied stump and the long bare stretch of tongue and teeth below left bare. It snaps uselessly and the closer it gets, he can hear a strange sound and he looks, sees its innards dragging across the ground from some wound. If he could, if he were braver, he would put it out of its misery but he is a coward and so he runs, forced to swallow vomit, bitter and disgusting until he leaves the twisted miseries behind him.

After a while, he collapses to his knees and sucks in lungfuls of air, listening to the whisper of wind around him and the pounding blood in his ears.

He doesn't know how he knows that she's coming but he trembles, presses his forehead hard to the ground and listens as she makes her way toward him, expecting the muted muffle of bare feet but she has feet more like a bird, razor sharp talons that catch the ground and he can imagine one slicing through flesh and sinew or maybe holding him down. She is dragging one of her monsters behind - still alive, it thrashes weakly in her grasp until she digs her fingers deeper and it lets out a whine he would not have expected from a monster but perhaps all creatures are reduced to the same when frightened and in pain, reverting to crying infants who want protection from their mother who will provide for them and shield them from harm.

"I'm sorry," she says finally, swinging the monster back and forth by its tail as it whines pitifully. He wishes she would put it out of its misery. "I had thought...I had hoped that you would have been more willing to please me." She walks closer, ground shifting and crunching beneath her talons as one shoots up suddenly and he yells, feels it scrape his throat before she has him flat on his back, pinning him. Needle points puncture thin skin and he wonders if this is it. "It's been so hard...I've been so alone all this time, I just want another like me. All those things, all those failures!" Her voice is inhuman, angry shrilling shriek of it that echoes and it aches in a way it shouldn't, as if it's being forced into his mind and he gasps for breath which has nothing to do with the flex of her clawed foot. Failure crashes down on him and he panics and struggles, locking eyes with the monster that is now dangling above his face so that he can smell its rancid breath. Strings of bloody saliva drip onto his face and he wants to squirm, wants to crawl away on his belly like a worm or a maggot but he can't.

"I'll be good," he whispers, thinking it is the right thing to say but a sickening crack punctuates his offer, his plea and the best falls limp with a thump beside him, eyes wide open to stare into his, eternally unblinking.  
  
"You can't be good," she spits, "you can never be good."  
  
"I don't know what you want me to be!"  
  
She laughs then, throws her head back and cackles, needle teeth gleaming red as she lets go of his throat and he tries to get up and move but she lunges and pins him down, crooning to him. He shouldn't have snapped. He knows that but he is so frightened, so scared.

It is pathetic to weep but he does, great wracking sobs, mucuous clinging at the back of his throat, still salty but slicker, slippery and she hushes him, kisses his tears and there must be something on her lips because it stings like a bug bite. It is more than just blood that stains her face. He wonders what things are in her dreams, what these beasts are.

"I wanted you to be with me. I've looked so long for someone else who would be a good father. All those things around you are failures, they weren't strong enough, ugly weak little babies that slithered out of me," he retches then at those words, wonders what he has been sleeping with all this time, what he has fallen in love with or if he fell in love at all. "If I tried to make you, you would be even more pathetic than them. Even more worthless. Not fit to eat lest you taint us all. If I broke you, you would stay a broken little pet who would sit in my lap and beg for whatever scraps I saw fit to gift you with. You would grow fat and bloated like a maggot but nothing would come from you." She pauses, traces a claw down his cheek and splits it open. "No...leech. Yes, leech, that is what you are. All blood and nothing else."

She smears his blood across his face and bends down to examine the wound.

"Ugly little leech, no purpose at all. Do you know how hard it is to be me? To keep wandering, to be forever searching. It's been so long since I had babies I could be proud of you know; your kind didn't even exist then. We had not dreamt you up. We were all the hideous things that the world has forgotten and if you truly saw some of us you would have wept and offered yourself up for sacrifice."

Images flood into his mind, a thing with a horn for a face, many hands, many legs, things with anemone mouths in their stomachs, extruding like starfish to engulf whole villages. Wild frenzies of blood and sex and carnage.

"We glutted ourselves. We grew fat and stupid. But some of us, we hid. We wore your filthy wretched hides and suffered but we will be strong. I had so many hopes for you."  
  
"Please," he whispers again but he does not know what he is pleading for now. Not mercy. She is incapable of it, easy to tell not just from her words and whatever she is making him see but from the arch of her back, the way she holds herself and the tilt of that jaw, the smile that plays around her killers mouth.  
  
"It'll all be over soon. But I will give you one last gift."  Death on her breath, his death, sickly sweet enough to make his blood run cold, to coax a whimper forth.  "I had a dream where I was a monster. I ripped your throat out with my fingers and then I plucked out your heart. So small, so warm. I ate it. Tore it apart with my teeth. I love you."

He remembers that and does not know why until she licks her bloodied teeth and lips.

"No," he begs, closing his eyes until she grabs him by the jaw and shakes him hard enough to rattle his teeth and have hm seeing double.  
  
"You will thank me," she commands, "you will watch. You will be grateful." She sits back, watches him as he stumbles to find the words, to force himself to say them as he hears the dying groans of the monster children she has borne from far away and he tries to comfort himself with knowing that he won't be one of them, won't be left to die slowly and in agony as they are. "Say it," she growls in his face, her nose pressed to his, black pools of her eyes captivating him in the worst ways.  
  
"Th-thank you. I-I-I will w-watch." He has to force down a swallow. "I will be grateful."  
  
"Good leech."

Her hands are on his throat, pulse fluttering wildly beneath her fingertips as her claws sink in and start to tear. Blood spurts up and he coughs and chokes, dying now, dying fast but she is so strong, so quick and his vision has narrowed down to a tunnel, black and white and red and he is so terrified, he sees her monsters waiting for him in the next world, the next life where they can chew and gnaw on him to their hearts content until he is as they are, waiting for the next, hungry and watchful.

As he labours through his last breaths, she cracks open his ribs and bends her head low, pressed right into the gaping hole, as savage as they are and there is a tug and his heart stops and he should be dead but she, eldritch abomination that she is keeps him alive or in some hovering nowhere place so that he can look at her devouring his heart.

And then...then nothing.

\---

To say she is displeased is an understatement as she licks the last of the leech from her fingers and his bloody is headier than she would have thought for something that was such a disappointment. One of her babies though, she found a strong one that wanted to tear her apart and so she smiles and strokes it, sings in the forgotten tongue of her people to tell him how strong he will be, how he will make the worlds scream and burn. It cries out and tries to rip her hand off.

"Is baby hungry?" She asks because a mother should talk to her baby always. She did when she carried them, things that tried to slay her even before she had given them life and those are her strong ones, ones who make her so proud with all their evil intent and brutishness. "Come, mother will find you something."


End file.
